The Last Kiss
by Guardian Spirit
Summary: Their first kiss was a mistake and their last was anything but. Roy/Riza


Their first kiss is a mistake. They are young and Roy is clumsy, managing to trip as he reaches for one of her father's textbooks. He doesn't even realize she's in the room until his body lands on top of hers. The embarrassment is intensified when he misjudges the space between their faces and brushes his lips against hers. She shoves him off and wipes viciously at her mouth, smalls noises of disgust wafting through the air. He wrinkles his nose and mumbles an apology before wiping at his own mouth. He is ten years old.

Their second kiss is desperate, a stolen moment inside a bunker at Ishbal. Her arm is bleeding from a fresh bullet wound as she stubbornly argues that she is fine. He doesn't believe her, though, and his heart breaks when she winces at the pressure of his bandage. "You could have died," he whispers and she nods slowly. He kisses her frantically, because until now he has never realized how much the thought of losing her scares him. He is twenty two years old.

Their fifth kiss is cautious and slow. They are traveling on a train, bound for the South to fix whatever mess Edward has gotten himself into this time. It is late and she is tired, but she refuses to sleep out of some convoluted sense of duty. After a half an hour of watching her eyes droop he pulls her to his shoulder and orders her to rest. Her body tenses, but they are alone and so relaxation comes quickly. He kisses her on the forehead and she takes his face into the palms of her hands, lips purposely finding his. He is twenty nine years old.

Their twentieth kiss is filled with passion. He shows up at her door a week after Hughes dies and pushes her inside before she has a moment to protest. She gives in as his hands inch up her stomach, taking her shirt with them. He kisses her hard. They make love that night and later he cries as she clutches him tightly to her chest. It's the first time he ever says he loves her. He is thirty years old.

Their sixtieth kiss is rushed as they crouch outside of Bradley's mansion. Her hands shake as she reloads her gun and tells him to be careful. He nods and forces her to look at him despite her insistence that he must get going. Her words are laced with fear and it shakes him to the core. He rips the hat from her head and runs his fingers through her hair, lips pressed against hers. She clings tightly to his jacket before breaking away to position herself to propel him over the wall. There are no tears. He is thirty two years old.

Their hundredth kiss is a surprise. He is sitting at his desk, body aching from the day. The clock strikes four and suddenly she bursts through the office door, shoving the others aside as she strides purposefully towards him. They all watch as she plants a kiss on his lips and his eyes go wide because they are at work and she _never _acts so impulsively. "They've made you Fuhrer," she exclaims louder than he ever thought her voice could go. He is forty years old.

Their five hundredth kiss is force of habit. He watches her from the bed as she dresses, blouse unbuttoned and hair still resting at her shoulders. He moves to stand behind her and notices the grey in his own hair as she makes her way to the bathroom. He listens as she reminds him that he has to be at the office in an hour and laughs when she threatens their plans for the night if he doesn't finish his reports. She kisses him as she grabs her bag, boots clicking as she makes her way down the hall. He collapses back onto the bed, determined to get a few more minutes of rest. He is fifty three years old.

Their thousandth kiss is a relief. He retires from the military and she goes with him. Fuery and Breda help them move her stuff in the next day and the boxes litter his once clean living room. They take the time to go through every single thing and by evening it is all in place. When night comes and she reaches into a drawer instead of her bag he grabs her and kisses her, heart bursting at the seams. She smiles at him as she walks to _their_ bathroom to wash up so she can fall asleep in _their_ bed. Finally. He is sixty five years old.

Their last kiss is simple. There are no bullets, no explosions, no tortured screams. Her eyes are closed, hand resting lightly in his. He sits quietly next to her bed and listens as her breathing slows, counting each one as if it were a prayer. He stays there for hours until finally the only noise that can be heard is the sound of his heart beating through his chest. He reaches out to smooth her hair before softly resting his lips against hers, whispering "I love you" one final time. He is seventy seven years old.


End file.
